When you have nowhere to go, go back to yourself.

Beyond hope, there is memory. Years back, I had read this line somewhere.

B and I. We rarely met. Whenever we did, we did not have time for each other. Just enough to exchange pleasantries. But I knew B well enough. He was a part of the extended branch of the family tree.

I have not met him in last three and a half years. He lives a few hundred miles away.

Last time I saw him, he was on a hospital bed, unable to move. An accident had left him immobile. Doctors said he had hurt a nerve somewhere along the cervical vertebrae.

B was a good student, did well for himself with a Government job. He was a better painter and a writer. He was passionate about his after-work life.

That January night, three years back, he was on his way back after a game of badminton when B met with an accident. Nobody noticed him though. He was lying by a desolate roadside for the next six hours till the day break when someone spotted him. There were some minor bruises on his body, ones which would not need any hospitalization. But he had hurt himself bad.

In the next few hours when he was rushed to the hospital, I saw him lying on his bed. He appeared normal. He felt no pain. He felt nothing below his neck. No sensation at all. In clinical terms, it’s called quadriplegic.

B was married just for seven months. I remember attending his wedding. He looked very happy that day.

His family worked very hard for him. He was put through severe physiotherapy regimes but there was little or very slow improvement. Sometimes, at low-levels of quadriplegia, limb functionality returns. Sometimes, when the degree is severe, it takes years. Sometimes, it just does not.

B’s improvement was slow. There were times when he, out of sheer desperation, would want his near and dear ones to leave him to die. But his family never gave up on him. His wife M just did not.

I have not met B ever since.

A few days back, when I returned home, as usual after the mid-night, I saw a book lying on the table. It was short story collection and B was the author.

I turned the cover. The first page read: To M. I owe this book to you. And, this life too.

*****

One need not always hold on to memory. Beyond hope, I believe, there is still hope. Even in the depths of hopelessness when every light of faith and belief flickers out, there is still hope. We just need to know where to look. I am sure B did find out.

The story of Morris Goodman, known to many as the Miracle Man, is a similar inspirational story about a man who did not give up on himself. This story is an inspiration. Thanks for sharing. Apparent challenges are some of the universe's most effective wake up calls to the sleeping soul. Each person is invited to snap out of their inner coma, relearn to live.

Beautifully written. There always is hope...you just have to wait long and hard to realize that it always was there even in those moments when you believed it never existed. The waiting and believing it exists is the hardest part of it but then one day you walk out into the light at the end of the tunnel and look back at the darkest bits of the tunnel, and you realize that hope was what held your hand all along and led you out.

You are so true when you say this: One day you walk out into the light at the end of the tunnel and look back at the darkest bits and realize that hope was what held your hand all along and led you out.